


A Moment

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: Sorta inspired by the latest Barbour ads, with Sam putting on the shirt in the bedroom.





	

It’s all about the moment. The moment you meet someone. The moment you realize, there’s something more here. The moment you allow yourself to really feel that. To acknowledge its existence. The moment a shy smile across the room is mirrored. The moment he takes his chance, or you take yours. Perhaps it’s over a drink in some pub, and he decides it’s _his_ moment to seize. Or you’re lounging on a sofa together, giggling at the same TV show, and he just looks so damn innocent and so damn beautiful. His smile lingers on the screen longer than necessary and you know he’s thinking something absolutely absurd and juvenile and you know you are going to love every last syllable of it, when he tells you. And maybe you kiss him then, or touch his hand, and he turns to you, the smile dissipating, or perhaps just lowering from his face to his heart and you can practically see his chest swell with love. And you take that moment together.

I can’t quite recall when I decided to just let myself love him. To give over my heart completely. Care or worry, nervousness or fear be damned.

I’d like to think it was one moment. One subtle gesture, like pulling me close to his body, and softly touching my forehead with his lips, hauntingly staying a moment too long, that caused me to tumble over the proverbial edge and into his soul.

But, it was probably more simple than that. Less noticeable. Like driving down the same stretch of highway, day after day, the barren trees passing you by in a flash, as winter holds its grip on the world longer than desired. Then suddenly, on that same drive, that same monotonous routine you do each day, you look out your window, passed the fog of daily life and the never-ending grey road, and the trees are full bloom. Spring has sprung all around you, and you didn’t even notice.

Yes. I think that’s what love is. Seemingly slow moving, until one day, it’s just there.

All these moments, and I cannot pinpoint the one where I knew I was his forever. The moment he made me breakfast in the morning after spending his first night in my bed. In that moment, I knew I wanted to see him there each morning. Not necessarily cooking over my stove, but the idea of that particular fetish was not lost on me. But the moment he shifts his weight in the bed, usually dislodging the cat, who has become an admirer of his presence as well. But he sighs heavily, fighting and welcoming the new day with the same gusto, one never knows what his thoughts on the subject truly are.

The moment, I’ve learned, that his remembers where he is, and with whom he is with. I’ve seen him wake on his own, be it napping at work, or stopping by his flat as a surprise, and he’s drifted off to sleep. He’s different when he wakes with me. Not quite a smile, but a hint of one flashes across his face, as if he’s keeping some dirty little secret. Alone, he wakes with an absence across his face. It’s robotic. He’s trained his body to wake early, and those days, that’s all that is required of it. Never to be quite happy. Just…indifferent, I think.

But that moment he opens his eyes slowly, as if he cannot stand the site of me too quickly. Like looking at the sun, he once said. I’ve been called beautiful most of my life, yet when I hear it from him, it’s like no one has ever uttered the words before, in my presence. It’s as if I’ve been staring at a mirror, looking into myself, but never quite seeing. Until, that is, he places his hands on each side of my head, and leans in to whisper the endearment, a secret just for me, and as I watch his reflection in the mirror, suddenly my own reflection glows, and I can see what he sees. I am more beautiful in his eyes, than in any magazine that has printed my photo dressed in designer clothes and haute couture.

Then, there’s the moment he runs a waking finger down my face, before words are even spoken. Sometimes, that finger remains on my cheek. Sometimes, it rests a moment on my shoulder, before settling back on the bed, before him. Other times, it travels further down my body, dipping below the sheets, to trace my naked body, memorizing the new shape it has taken, like a blind man reading braille. Taking in the knowledge it has to give.

My skin reacts to his touch in a second. Less than. He’s like lightning bolts through my body, every hair, standing on end. The moment he pushes between my thighs, with that wandering digit, is the moment I know of pure and utter bliss. It isn’t the sex, or the making love, or the fucking. It’s the touch. Even though the very idea of his touch, makes my head dizzy, like I’ve been riding some twisting and turning ride at the amusement park.

It’s everything. The smell of his skin, the birds whistling their tune, the creaks of our old house, reminding me we have a home. His sighs of pleasure and excitement. The look across his face.

Sometimes his moments are written across his face. He’s deciding whether to please me solely, or take pleasure himself. He’s an open book, with the words splashed across his face like scripture.

The moment he enters me, I always do my best to keep my eyes open. It isn’t easy. The feeling so intense as his large cock pushes inside my small body. But I try. For what it’s worth, he often closes his eyes. The fight is strong in him as well, to keep them open, but he often fails. Succumbs to the moment, as it washes over his body. His senses.

Our lovemaking is never awkward. Even when it should be. Whether it was the first time, which sent mini explosions tumbling through my body for hours, or the funny sounds our bodies make in the heat of passion. Some moments take us by surprise and we laugh and giggle, like two school children that have planted a stink bomb. And sometimes it passes through us, over us, like a wisp of a feather, floating in the wind.

He tugs gently at my breast, my condition darkening my nipples to an old cabernet. He feeds off my body, drinks from me as if I had nourishment to give. I will, soon enough. It’s a fantasy, he says. For when we have our child, when she is born, he wants to take me in his mouth, soft and gentle, to wipe away the tenderness and ache, I was told I would have.

I long for this as well. For us, when that moment arrives, it will not be about dirtiness or perversion. It will be about love. Just another moment that will pass us by too quickly, so we must take advantage when we can. Another moment to experience something new our bodies have to give to one another.

The moment love turns to passion, and our movements begin to wear on the bed, I grip him tightly, pulling his body down, his hard chest pressing against my belly. He lifts off me slightly, remembering to not push into me too hard, as we both forget, in the moment, there’s someone between us now.

He floods my body, quicker than last night. The morning is always quick. I feel the stickiness coat my thighs as I refuse to let him part from my body. But someone objects, and I can feel the kick through his back. He falls to the side, his eyes aghast, as his hand flies to my belly. It’s the moment he’s finally felt _her_.

I smile, watching his face display the most beautiful reaction of wonderment and happiness, but there’s a sadness as well. He keeps his hand steady, awaiting another hard drive. But all is still, save our heavy breaths from early morning exertion.

We wait. And the moment is longer than most. He’s resolved to it not happening again, and leans in to my naked belly, kissing me softly, before resting his head atop me, his eyes cast downward to my belly. I curl my fingers in his hair and will our child to respond to her father. It takes another moment or two, and she acquiesces. The kick pushes his head up and he laughs in awe, before settling back down again. I feel a teardrop land on my stomach and my heart warms as moments of our love come splashing at me, like kids in pool.

It is said, if you’re not careful, that you can lose yourself in someone. But it was when I lost myself in him, that I found a different part of me. Something I had only dreamed of, late at night, before sleep takes you, and you imagine the books you read to be real. The men in them - strong, humble, sweet, funny, kind and funny – to be real. It seems he had been the keeper of secrets he didn’t know he possessed. Secrets that unlocked that dreamlike state my consciousness had been in, regarding men. I’ve had my share of bad ones. Ones I thought that were good. But every bone in my body and thought in my head and warmth of my soul, told me, he was real. He was my Peter Pan and I, his Wendy, and we would fly together on this incredible journey of life.

It's a journey we were not meant to take alone. And in a few short months, a whole lot of brand new moments were going to cross our path. Some unwelcome, some with pomp and circumstance and a giant parade with Sam leading the way.

The earthquakes in my belly stop, and he crawls up my body, his leg crossing over my hip. His eyes close and I feel mine with a great weight as well. I smile, sleep pulling me in, as I know I will recall this moment, until my hair has gone grey and my body cannot hold me upright anymore.

With a clank of a leash, and a sniff of the air, we’re pulled awake, as our intruder reminds us, _he_ needs a moment as well.

 

 


End file.
